


Titanium

by keep_me_alone



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Bruce is mostly just mentioned, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, anyways I wrote this at like midnight while taking sedatives so bear w me LMAO, anyways this is a Suicide Attempt thing fic so don't read if that triggers you, he's super shitty here, pretty self indulgent because isn't everything I write, sorry - Freeform, this is also not a bruce is a good dad fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:41:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_me_alone/pseuds/keep_me_alone
Summary: After patrol, Dick finds out that Tim recently tried to kill himself. They have a conversation about it.





	Titanium

Tim was getting changed in the Batcave's locker when Dick walked in. He was busy pulling on a long sleeved shirt, when Dick noticed a thick, fresh scar across Tim's wrist. 

“Tim…” Dick said, frowning as he caught his hand. “What the hell happened?” Tim yanked his arm away, flushing.

“It’s nothing.” He muttered, trying to push past. Dick gave him a Look.

“You’re full of shit,” Dick told him. “Come on, I’m making tea. We can talk.”

“Do we have to?” Tim asked tiredly. He didn’t really expect an answer and Dick didn’t give him one. Dick grabbed Tim again and didn't let go, even as he dragged him upstairs to the kitchen. Dick did release him when they got there so he could start the tea. He picked the Valerian root one. The one that Alfred had had blended specially for Tim, because it was kind of sedating.

“So,” Dick said, planting himself on the stool next to Tim, “tell me about it.”

“Jesus Dick,” Tim muttered, not really looking at him, “it doesn’t matter.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then it shouldn’t bother you to talk about it,” Dick replied with feigned cheerfulness, “I mean, I know B didn’t talk to you about it, and I doubt you talked to Alfred, or God forbid Damian.” Tim huffed at him.

“I think that would count as child abuse.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dick agreed. The kettle shrilled and he dipped out to transfer the water to the tea pot. “So,” he left it open for Tim to start.

“I don’t know,” Tim shrugged, “I just like tried  to… to kill myself a couple months ago.” Dick drew a long, slow breath. “And yeah, I know it was stupid or whatever, Bruce made that really clear to me.” He fell silent for a long moment, gave a half-hearted shrug. Dick didn’t prompt him to keep talking, figuring he would when he was ready. That was how Tim was, usually. He didn’t want to talk, or at least maintained that pretense, but once you got him started, he would keep going by himself. Dick poured the tea into two mugs, set one in front of Tim and kept one for himself.

“It was just stupid,” Tim muttered softly, toying with the handle on his mug. “There wasn’t even like a real reason, I’m just tired.” He wanted to tell Dick, the quiet, gentle presence at his shoulder, tell him all the words he'd been holding back for so long, but it was like he was physically incapable of making the sounds. 

Tell me what you did,” Dick murmured. If Tim had been looking, he would have seen the unbearable empathy in his face, but he knew that, so he kept his head down.

“I didn’t sleep well,” Tim began again, “I had nightmares, and I was tired.” He sighed. “I’m always tired. And anyways I don’t know, Damian was being a brat, and Bruce was in a mood, and I guess it was just a little too much that day.” He sipped his tea. “I was just tired,” he repeated. He kept saying it, not because he thought Dick wasn’t listening, but because he didn’t really know how to explain exactly how tired he was. Enough that he was starting to wonder if it was unrelated to the amount of sleep he got, or the coffee he drank, but something deeper, written into his bones. “So I went upstairs, and locked the door. Not that anyone tried to get in. Anyways, I just took like a handful of pills, whatever was around, and like,” he took a deep breath, “cut my wrists in the tub.”

“You didn’t die,” Dick whispered.

“No,” Tim agreed, drinking more, “At some point I guess I passed out,” he shrugged, “probably from the pills rather than bleeding. I definitely didn't cut myself deep enough, because it's kind of harder than it looks? I don't know. I guess someone missed me, eventually, because the next day I woke up in the hospital, instead of like, dead, you know?” He pushed his mug around the table. “How many times have you seen Bruce cry?” He asked, glancing sideways. Dick thought about it.

“Not many,” he admitted after a moment.

“Yeah, he was curled over me, just like, sobbing. It was the worst. Like I know I’m always dying for him to notice me, but this was different. It was kind of um terrifying actually. Anyways, when he stopped he flipped out, which was also not fun, but was like really not worse.” Dick folded his hand over Tim’s, threaded their fingers together. “And basically he yelled a bunch, and I think probably scared the hospital staff as much as he scared me, just about how I was being selfish and naïve, um and yeah,” he squeezed Dick’s hand. “I feel pretty shitty about the whole thing.”

“Can I hug you?” Dick asked. Tim nodded, let Dick wrap his arms around him. He relaxed a little bit. “I’m sorry Timmy,” Dick mumbled, rubbing his cheek against Tim’s hair.

“It was stupid,” Tim breathed, “I’m just tired,” his voice cracked a little.

“Bruce is a douche,” that startled a laugh out of Tim, even through the tears that had started to pool in his eyes.

“That rhymes,” he said, “we’re calling him that now.” Dick laughed too, hugged him harder.

“Ok,” Dick sniffled. “Drink your tea and get the fuck to bed,” he let go of Tim who sighed.

“It’s not that kind of tire-,” Dick cut him off.

“I know,” he said, not unkindly. “But you gotta sleep, because you _are also_ that kind of tired. We can get this figured out ok?” Tim nodded, and swiped the back of his hand over his face.

“Alright,” he gulped the last of his tea.

“I didn’t mean like that,” Dick protested. Tim smiled shakily at him.

“I know,” he set his mug in the sink and yawned.

“Just call me next time, ok?” Dick asked. Tim shrugged.

“No promises,” Dick raised an eyebrow, a good imitation of Bruce. “Fine,” Tim agreed, as he slipped away, “I’ll try.”

“Good enough,” Dick muttered to the empty air. He cleaned up slowly. He was definitely going to have a chat with Bruce about this. About a couple things, actually. First, why he’d let Tim get this bad without noticing. Second, to tell him off for yelling at a hurt Tim, and third, for not calling him, or making any attempt to let him know that Tim had tried to fucking kill himself. Dick set his mug down a little harder than necessary. Yeah, they were gonna have a talk.


End file.
